Historically Inaccurate

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I'm stepping out of the elevator when I remember that I have to go grocery shopping. It's not really a hassle, considering the nearest supermarket is two blocks away from the north side of the college, I can easily get there by biking. The problem is getting all I need in my bike.

Be eco-friendly, they said. It'll be fun, they said.

I don't bike to be eco-friendly, not entirely, that's the vegans job. Dad and I don't have enough money to get a new car, not ever since what happened to the old one, which we haven't fixed yet. So I'm stuck with biking around, at least it keeps my legs looking good as fuck. I can't wait for it to be summer again so I can wear all the shorts and dresses I can get my hands on.

I wave a quick goodbye to the lady in the front of the main desk at the bookstore, pushing past the glass doors of the library and welcoming the cool January air as it hits my cheeks. The sun is peeking through the trees planted outside the library which offer enough shade for it to feel like it's colder than fifty degrees.

"Hey,"

Oh my God I swear I will feed my first born to Cthulhu if it means I never have to see you again. I stop walking. Holding my backpack strap, I turn to my right, and sure enough, there is the guy from yesterday leaning against one of the trees. One earphone on while the other one falls across his maroon jacket, both hands inside the pockets of his jeans.

I look around, since the current set of classes don't end till five-forty-five, the sidewalks are technically empty. There's a few students hanging out over some picnic tables, but they're out of earshot.

"Should I get a restraining order?" I say, holding his gaze. His lips quirk up.

"Shouldn't that be my line?"

"You're the one that came into my work."

"Last time I heard of it, the library is open to students, which is what I am. You were the one that started screaming like I was going to shoot you."

Trying not to cringe too hard, I take a step backwards, already turning away from him.

"Look, it was lovely meeting you again —" I move my hand in circular motion, because the Lord knows what his name is.

"Ethan."

"Yeah, well, Ethan — if that's your real name, I have to go." I begin to move away, the bike rack is close to the people I saw earlier, and I'm not even three meters away from it when I hear he's walking behind me.

"Are we going to ignore the fact you broke into a hom—" he doesn't get to finish his thought though, because the moment he mentioned the word "broke" I whirled around and slapped a hand over his mouth. My heart beating a hundred beats per second as my eyes fly to the people at the picnic table.

"What are you saying out in the public?" I hiss.

He takes my wrist, pushing my hand aside.

"This could be considered assault." To his credit he does lower his voice, but the people on the table seem too entertained with something on their phone to pay us any attention.

"You're the one that's following me around. That's harassment."

Ethan sighs, letting my hand go and pushing his own inside the pockets of his jacket.

"Look, I didn't call the cops on you last night."

I nod, relief washing over me even though I am well aware of that, taking in mind I'm not currently sitting in a jail cell waiting for the people at the club to pay my bail as they promised they'd do if I got caught (though I didn't entirely believe them).